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She responded almost immediately with a bunch of laughing-face emojis.
His smile got wider.
She was back in.
When he went upstairs for lunch, he told April that he had to meet with a contractor who would be taking on some of his workload while they moved. He didn’t want to be too distracted.
April, who was wrapping cups in bubble wrap and placing them into a box alongside the rest of the dishes in the kitchen while the girls skipped around the finished puzzle, nodded. “Thanks, babe. You want to watch a movie or something afterward? If it’s not too late? I can’t believe it’s our last night here.” Her face fell a little as she looked past him and down the hallway. “I’m going to miss it. I keep remembering bringing Emma and Kimmie home from the hospital.”
He squeezed her arm and took one of the unwrapped cups from the cupboard to pour himself a glass of water. “Yeah, lots of memories. But we’ll make new ones.”
I felt sick. April just smiled wistfully and kept packing while he took his glass of water downstairs, whistling a little to himself. Probably thinking about his date with Nicole.
The lightbulb in the kitchen flickered above April’s head.
I decided then that I was going on his date too.
I wasn’t sure what I could do. As far as I could tell, I wasn’t very powerful. A flickering light and a messed-up computer weren’t going to stop him from hurting someone.
But I had to try.
9. SKYE
Kuna, Idaho
Now
Before it was light outside, my mom was awake and making calls at the kitchen table with a cup of plain black coffee. I sat next to her at the table, watching the wisps of gray light build over the horizon through the patio windows.
I hadn’t really started drinking coffee until I’d gotten the job at the Daily Grind a year ago. To my mom’s delight, I’d started recreating the drinks at home. In the mornings before I left for school, we’d drink soy lattes or caramel macchiatos together until I had to leave.
The despair washed over me in a wave, and I wondered how long it would last. Mourning every detail of the life I would never experience again.
There were so many little, beautiful things. The feel of the late-afternoon sun filtering through the windows after school as I did my homework. Fresh coffee to my lips. The smell of my mom’s hair when she gave me a hug. Things I’d taken in stride as part of my day. Let alone the things I’d never get to experience now. The things I’d been telling myself I dreaded about going to college but was really just nerves.
My mom called the police station first.
I could hear both sides of the conversation as well as if I were on the phone myself, when I squeezed in close to her.
I quickly gathered that they weren’t looking for me. Not really.
I was eighteen. I wasn’t legally required to come home to anyone.
The fact that my phone was going straight to voicemail wasn’t enough of a reason to pull in the resources that would be necessary to track me down.
“The paperwork for the missing persons report has been filed,” the woman on the other end of the line replied patiently. “That’s all I can tell you for sure right now. I know how difficult this is, but an officer will be in touch as soon as possible. If you learn anything else, please keep me updated.”
I watched as my mom’s fingers curled into a fist. She gritted her teeth. “She’s never done anything like this. Ever. She was supposed to be driving to ISU with me today. Her first year of college. Something is really, really wrong.”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone. “I understand. An officer should be in touch shortly, you should be hearing from someone today. This morning.”
My mom’s hands shook as she ended the call and then dialed my dad.
My parents had split up when I was in fifth grade. My dad moved to Oregon with his girlfriend, Sandy. I saw him maybe twice a year after that. We weren’t especially close. Still, when he answered his phone on the first ring, I felt almost dizzy with the clash of joy and sadness that filled me to the brim.
“Marisa? Are the police looking for her? Has she come home,” he started before she could speak.
The bulb above the kitchen table flickered wildly, and my mom looked up and frowned. She turned the light switch off and stood to dump her coffee down the sink in the semi-darkness of the kitchen.
